


If I'm Ruining You Right Now, Please Forgive Me

by Mizzy



Category: Marvel 616
Genre: Avengers Mountain, Avengers Vol. 8 (2018), Captain America Vol. 9 (2018), Communication, Emetophobia, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Getting Together, Happy Ending, M/M, Memories, Post-Hydra Steve Rogers, Psychic Bond, Rats, uni-mind
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-28
Updated: 2019-06-28
Packaged: 2020-05-14 09:18:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19270306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mizzy/pseuds/Mizzy
Summary: Tony’s definitely up to something, Steve’s sure about that. But when he follows Tony down into the unused leg of their new unconventional home, Steve isn’t expecting to discover the lengths Tony will go to try to make him happy.





	If I'm Ruining You Right Now, Please Forgive Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jaylee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaylee/gifts).



> Thank you to Nigmuff and ishipallthings who beta'd this for me, you were awesome, I love you both. Thanks to Wynnesome, ohmyloki and Tanghali for the brainstorming help! I really appreciated all of you so so much, thank you.
> 
> This is for Jaylee, I couldn't choose so this fic is somewhere between Short Prompt 1 and Long Prompt 2. I really hope you like it!
> 
>  **Notes:**  
>  This is set after Avengers (2018) #8, but drawing knowledge of the Uni-Mind from Avengers (1963) [#248-9, #361, #370-1], Thor (1966) [#291, #292, #300], Heroes for Hire (1997) #5 and Eternals [1#12, 1#14, 2#12, 3#6, 4#9]. It assumes the current Cap run is retrospective (based on Steve's past tense narration.) There are also small pieces of dialogue borrowed from Immortal Hulk #7, Iron Man (2013) #14, and Civil War II: The Oath.
> 
> Title banner is compiled from images from Avengers (2018) #6 and Captain America (2018) #9.
> 
>  **Warnings:**  
>  Hydra!Cap is discussed and some of Steve's unhappy feelings thereof. There's also a tiny cute-ass mutant as smart as Tony who may be implied to be eating rats at some point, but you can handwave that and pretend he lets them go free.

 

It’s not his memory. This is not his memory. The memory is tinged with red. Hellfire red. It’s warm and Steve is drawn to that the same way he feels like he’s always chasing heat. Forever trying to fully thaw.

He’s sitting on a couch. No, it’s someone _else_ sitting on a couch, someone with thinner legs, someone who feels slightly uncomfortable in their own body in a way Steve hasn’t felt since the first time he was bombarded by vita-rays. He’s a different person, sitting on a couch, in a rundown lounge that feels loved, even as it looks like it’s pieced together with duct tape and discarded furniture. The room has love in it, and Steve is someone else, sitting on that couch, and there’s someone curled up against him.

Steve turns—or he turns the head of the person whose memory this is—and looks down at the face of a boy who stares up at him, wide-eyed with fear, but the image of him curls something deep and protective in Steve. He wants to protect this person with his life. He wants this person to be happy and safe but for some reason, he’s not, and it’s ripping him apart.

"I’m scared, Robbie," the boy says, his voice scraping, and oh, it’s Gabe. Gabe Reyes. This is Robbie’s memory. A hundred emotions crawl down Robbie’s throat and Steve can feel them all in a cacophony. The newest Ghost Rider is so young and has already been through so much; Steve’s impressed by Robbie’s strength all over again. "That girl was like me, and they—they just beat up on her, Robbie, they just—"

Gabe is sobbing and Robbie pulls his younger brother closer, lets him sob into his skin, and Steve can feel the raw desperation and sorrow like it’s his own. For now, it is his own. It’s a jumble of emotion and memory, shared so deeply into him that Steve can’t extract it from his own thoughts.

"I’ll keep you safe," Robbie whispers. "I won’t let them touch a hair on your head."

"Hydra—" Gabe starts, "they don’t—they don’t like people like me, broken people like me." His eyes drift over to his chair in the corner, and Robbie’s heart contracts again painfully, and he has to swallow hard to stop the fire coming out, the hate, the revenge - he wants to personally send anyone who even _looks_ at Gabe wrong straight to hell—but Gabe needs him more right now. Gabe needs him here, protecting him. That's the only thought keeping the devil at bay.

"You’re not broken," Robbie assures him, desperation hot and hard in his chest, but his voice is solid and firm, a foundation for Gabe to lean against. "I’ll fight anyone who says otherwise. You’re perfect, just the way you are. The Supreme Commander _himself_ can go to hell if he thinks you’re anything other than valid and worth _everything_."

Gabe nods, and trembles, and cries hard. Steve’s read the reports of what happened during that last awful Civil War. An inhuman called Ulysses Cain had visions of the future, and one of those entailed Captain America ending up impaled in front of the Capitol Building. Gabe’s tears make Steve feel like Ulysses’ vision might have come true, _should_ have come true, he should be impaled on something right now, something dark and ugly and painful, because this is unbearable, because Steve can feel it—he can feel how _scared_ Robbie was at this point of time.

Robbie knew if the Supreme Commander had seen Gabe, there would have been no hesitation, Gabe would be discarded like trash, because he would never be a perfect soldier for Hydra. Steve can picture it clearly even though it didn't happen to him, his own face looking down on this boy in judgment, his own voice making the order, to discard a human life just because the body's imperfect—

Steve wakes up forcibly, and heads over to the fold-down toilet; he pulls out the basin just in time to expel his dinner into it. He wipes his mouth perfunctorily and flushes the evidence, pushing the toilet back into the wall and staggering to the sink, holding onto the edges and staring hollowly into the mirror in front of him.

A haunted face stares back, shadows under his eyes, strain across his face. Shit. _Shit_. He’d thought he was handling this, the nightmare of someone stealing his identity and name, and carving fucking holes into the world that would never go away.

He grabs his bottle of mouthwash and gargles viciously with it, spitting it out and averting his face from the mirror. He forces himself to breathe as evenly as he can.

It’s just the fallout from the Uni-Mind. Ever since the seven of them bonded so that Robbie could pilot the Celestial and save the day, they’ve all been stuck with the symptoms Vision described so many years ago—a jumble of disquieting emotions and memories, tied into knots.

Steve’s never experienced a Uni-Mind bond like this. The only other time Steve was in a Uni-Mind, it wasn’t a full bond—the disruption thanks to Sersi’s _Gann Josin_ state. He didn't consent to it and he didn’t get these symptoms from that experience of it. This time, the Uni-Mind had been full and voluntary, and this has led to symptoms that… don’t exactly rank among Steve’s favorite fallout from a battle.

T’Challa’s technicians and doctors have completed thorough check-ups on them all and are assured that the sensations—recalling the memories and emotions of the others who had been in the Uni-Mind—will fade in time, but they’ve also affirmed that it’s unchartered territory. The Eternals safeguarded the Uni-Mind technique, rarely sharing it outside their own kind, so they have no long-term data of how a Uni-Mind can affect a non-Eternal. They’re tracking down Dane for anything he might recall from his _Gann Josin_ bond, but until then, they’re operating from Vision’s own brief Uni-Mind experience

Steve sighs. Until it fades, he’s probably going to keep getting these snatches of memories that aren’t his own. He briefly closes his eyes and gets another crimson flash of Gabe’s scared expression and of Robbie’s fear of the Supreme Commander, and he knows he’s not sleeping again tonight.

The mouthwash hasn’t chased away the sour taste in his mouth. Coffee might do it, he thinks, so he slides out of his room and heads down the hallway to the Spine Lift. His mouth curls involuntarily at the names in this place. The hallway is long, but then the rooms in Avengers Mountain are massive, bigger than Steve can easily put into words. His reports on missions in the past where they’ve encountered Celestials have always felt underwhelming. _Big_ doesn’t even cover it. Gargantuan feels like an understatement. T’Challa’s engineers have worked magic (well, technology, but once technology gets advanced enough, it’s the same thing) and sanitized so much of it, so that if Steve focuses on something else he can forget that they’re living in someone’s corpse. It’s kind of terrifying if Steve thinks about it too long. Then again, a lot of his thoughts are terrifying. Some more than others.

He understands that they’re honoring the Celestial’s wishes, and using it for a base is a symbol of respect, but Steve wishes he could forget that they’re currently living in a giant alien corpse. The bodily name for places doesn’t help him forget. Steve sighs and punches the button for the kitchen. It’s one of the rooms that doesn’t have a cute body-part name yet, but Steve’s brain rolls over the options anyway. Stomach-en? Stomitchen? It probably is in the stomach, because Carol and T’Challa’s technicians haven’t been subtle about figuring out where to locate things. He supposes they’re just lucky the communal showers aren’t in the bladder.

Still, even though it’s in the Arctic (Steve will always be slightly wary of ice and snow), and it’s one more home funded by someone else (not Tony or SHIELD this time, but Wakandan financing, so at least he supposes it’s a change), there’s one thing Steve knows for sure: it’s better than jail. And hey, here he can be pretty sure he’s sharing his lodgings with people that aren’t going to kill him. Probably.

Steve gets to the floor with the stomach-kitchen and tries to use his memory to find the right door, and he’s pleased when he succeeds. He doesn’t know if he’s pleased or not to see he’s not alone in heading for the kitchen at stupid o’clock.

Tony gives him a bleary smile from where he’s standing by one of the counters, stirring something into a mug which, unsurprisingly, has Steve’s shield printed on the side. Steve’s not entirely sure _where_ Tony gets all his Captain America merchandise from, but he holds back the advice to be careful with what he has, because he doubts recent events would make anything _Captain America_ sell well at all. Unless it’s to make a massive bonfire to burn everything on, he supposes.

Steve’s thoughts are as sour as the taste in his mouth and he searches for something, _anything_ , to distract his mind. Something that isn’t related to the other problem on both of their minds, because while Steve wants a distraction, he doesn’t want another shouting match about what Namor is up to. Thank goodness Tony can always be relied on for more than one avenue to distraction, and Steve latches gratefully onto the discarded wrapper on the counter next to Tony’s mug.

"Do not tell me you found that in here," Steve says, sighing as he picks up and holds an empty coffee sachet, waving it at Tony. "You know you asked us to help lower your caffeine intake."

"I had to ask for help, this new body isn’t up to my old one’s levels of caffeine depravity and I keep forgetting that." Tony squints. "I’d just like to point out that I asked for help to _lower_ it, not remove it entirely."

As Tony picks up his coffee to drink it, Steve tries not to frown at how casually Tony’s talking about his body being new. He envies Tony’s ability to be so easy about it. It’s been nice to see Tony walking around in a body unencumbered by the scars and aches of old. The tension in his shoulders that had been present since the SHRA isn’t so pronounced, and Tony’s movements have been slightly quicker. Not that they’ve been hanging out much since they both came back from their own personal hells, but Tony seems to have adjusted to having a brand new body really well. Then Steve thinks about how _his_ body is technically brand new too. His old one is still out there, somewhere, maybe doing terrible things— _more_ terrible things in his name _—_

"Okay, fine, I can put it down," Tony says, looking wide-eyed, and he puts his mug down on the nearest counter.

Steve catches a glimpse of his own face in the stainless steel fridge and has to force himself to breathe. Maybe he looked a _little_ bit terrifying. Just like _He_ did when He was walking around, wearing Cap’s face, and using his name, and so many people believing that it was _him,_ turning Captain America into a symbol of fear and terror _—_

Steve jolts when Tony’s hand grazes his elbow supportively, and Tony pulls backward, looking chagrined, and Steve’s instantly miserable, because he doesn’t want Tony to think his kindness is unwanted. Maybe it’s unbearable, like any and all kindness feels at the moment, but not unwanted.

"I’m sorry," Steve says, "I didn’t mean to—it’s not you."

"I absolutely understand, it’s fine."

 _Do you?_ is what Steve wants to ask, because how could Tony really understand? Instead, he reaches forward, grabs Tony’s hand, and puts it back on his elbow, glaring at Tony challengingly, daring him to pull back this time.

Tony’s face crumples into a mixture of confusion and amusement, his eyebrows drawn together but mouth stretched to one side in a genuine smile. His eyes are alight with mirth when he meets Steve’s glare with a gaze of his own that is both laughing and _knowing_.

"This is probably one of the most awkward moments I’ve had since waking up," Tony says. Steve can feel his jaw clench involuntarily tighter but he just raises his eyebrows and holds Tony’s hand against his arm, even though _awkward_ doesn’t really cover it. Steve’s elbow feels weird where Tony’s fingers are touching his skin, almost like something is fizzing just below the surface. "I honestly can’t believe I missed how stubborn you are."

Steve grins, picturing the tableau they must make right now. It’s probably an odd one, even for them. He lets go of Tony’s hand. Tony quirks an eyebrow at him and leaves his hand there on Steve’s elbow. Steve can’t help his laugh.

"You’re ridiculous," Steve tells him.

" _I’m_ ridiculous," Tony echoes, and does pull his hand away this time. A feeling swells up in Steve that he stubbornly does not label as disappointment, even though it feels very similar. "I’m not the one putting the fear of God into the rookie just over a tiny bit of coffee."

"I didn’t put the fear of God into Robbie."

"No, you put the fear of Cap into him, which is worse." Tony edges his hand back towards the mug of abandoned coffee, and then scowls and lets his hand fall. "Dammit, you’re a terrible influence. Making me do good and healthy things, how dare you."

Steve knows it’s a joke, but the words _terrible influence_ settles down his spine with an icy ring of truth to it. He can still feel the ghost of an EMP blast in his hand, even if this isn’t the body that delivered it, and he misses the days when _that_ was the worst fucking thing he’d ever done.

"I’m going to continue the theme," Tony says, "and grab something healthy to eat." He beams oddly at Steve then. Maybe Steve’s face is still doing something weird. Steve watches Tony hum under his breath as he looks in the communal fridge and pulls out an entire bag of celery. "That’ll do nicely."

Steve stares as Tony leaves the kitchen with just that bag of celery sticks, nothing else.

 _He’s up to something,_ Steve’s brain whispers.

The thought is unwanted, but at least this time it’s definitely one of his own.

#

Tony’s been avoiding him recently. Or avoiding all of them, Steve’s not sure. It’s probably not good.

They’re still so fresh as a team that Robbie’s still doing that star-eyed staring thing whenever Tony’s in the room (as himself _or_ in the armor), which means they haven’t done an adequate amount of team bonding yet. It probably says something that Steve’s yardstick for adequate is when an Avenger gets comfortable enough to play _hide all the coffee and caffeine from Tony Stark._ Just last night, Steve caught Robbie trying to nonchalantly sidle towards the Brain-brary with a flask full of espresso, dammit Tony.

He doesn’t know who to lecture first: Robbie for falling for Tony’s charms, or Tony for trying to corrupt the rookie.

It’s frustrating. Tony Stark is frustrating. And he’s definitely, officially Up To Something, fully deserving of all the capital letters. Steve’s tried to follow him four times in the last few days, and every single time, Tony just _disappears_. And when Tony does contact him when he’s on a mission, it’s clear he’s distracted.

Tony’s probably getting the same flashes of memories they all are. Steve’s been keeping a journal, trying to keep all the memories and dreams apart. He’s had several over the last week: green-tinted dreams filled with late nights that taste of caffeine and are filled with legal jargon; a soft white memory of a battle with frost giants where lightning streamed through his hands; a golden memory where an unfamiliar white-haired woman collapsed against him in happy tears, and Steve’s not sure who that memory belongs to, but it’s warm and happy and sad and relieved all at once.

Steve’s almost relieved when T’Challa calls them to an official meeting, even if he can’t yet personally give a decent update to what Namor is up to, or how many more transformation bombs he has access to. Even if he has to sit there and explain Jim’s current state like it’s just a fact and not something that’s tearing him up from the inside.

Carol understands the feeling—he can tell by the way her jaw pulses just once as she matter-of-factly explains what happened with the Nuclear Man; Jennifer adds her own version of the tale but gets frustrated when the side-effects of her ramped-up power makes her speech stumble and slow. She turns a distressed expression towards Thor, whose face softens as he flickers a thumbs-up at her. Steve _thinks_ that's Thor attempt at subtle, which is almost sweet.

There are no new instructions, except for _maintain the current status quo_. Steve’s glad that he has the space to continue with the Invaders. Goodness knows Namor has always been a problem Steve’s had to expend excessive amounts of energy to solve. Steve’s determined to get this done and get it done right, for all their sakes. Namor’s obstinate, but Steve’s pretty sure he’s only the King of Atlantis, not the King of Who Has the Most Stubborn Will.

"If that’s all our business concluded," T’Challa says, "then I suggest we retire for the moment."

Steve nods at T’Challa, who catches his gaze serenely for a moment, but then the side of his mouth quirks up into a brief smile that Steve mirrors. It’s not often that they get to have a full meeting without being interrupted by the call to assemble. This may even be T’Challa’s first full successful meeting since becoming the leader of the Avengers, if you count _success_ as going through the minutes without anyone suggesting war, or without any fist fights. It’s always been the measure Steve used in his own time as leader. T’Challa’s doing an excellent job, but Steve supposes it makes sense; a group of seven superheroes, even with their combined antagonistic histories, must still be easier than ruling an entire _country_.

By the time Steve’s put his tablet into his satchel, the room’s empty. Carol leaves first, desperate not to be in any room with Tony longer than she needs to. Thor whisks Jennifer away first with a brief mention of dinosaurs or a picnic, or it could be both. Robbie yells about needing to Facetime his brother and then runs out the door. T’Challa and Okoye head off, chatting about the logistics of having Man-Wolf on the extended team, and whether it’s a good idea considering his history with Jennifer. Steve must have missed when Tony left the assembly room. Huh. He moves faster at that realization.

Steve emerges into the main hallway outside the assembly room and when he does, he catches Tony’s eyes for a second, and that’s all it is, just one second, because Tony—at the far end of the hallway—makes some sort of nod, turns away and starts to walk away from him. Steve pushes his mouth into a line and hurries to catch him up.

"Tony," Steve starts, "I was hoping to—"

He’s about to say _have a word with you,_ but Tony pushes through into the next hallway, quirking a speculative eyebrow at Steve, like he’s got no idea what Steve might want. They're immediately interrupted by a very large figure, who manages to be imposing even in one of the Mountain's massive hallways.

"Ah, Captain Rogers, I was hoping for a word," Gorilla-Man says, eyeing Tony warily. It’s no secret that Gorilla-Man’s feelings for Tony are lukewarm at best. Steve’s overheard him whining about Tony’s ego and brash billionaires, but he’s pretty sure it’s more to do with Tony catching him naked in the showers the other day. According to Broo, who analyzes most of the mountain’s security footage, Tony took one look and _laughed_.

Hysteria is a perfectly normal behavioral response to strange events, even if it feels somewhat odd to assign the words _normal behavior_ to anything Tony does.

Steve huffs and pushes away the thought, because it’s either an uncharitable one or it’s something else in the category of Tony-Stark-related-thinking that Steve’s been forcibly pushing to the back of his mind since the very first moment he met the man.

"Is it important?" Steve asks. The _can it wait_ hangs prominently in the silence, courtesy of the world-weary stare he sends Gorilla-Man’s way.

"It’s something...personal," Gorilla-Man says, and shoots another loaded look in Tony’s direction.

Tony holds his hands up in mock surrender and starts to move away. "Shame I have to go and leave you two to this, then."

"Tony—" Steve starts, frustrated, but Tony’s already scurrying off down the stairs.

"Ah, good," Gorilla-Man says.

Steve sighs and turns to him. "You do realize I’m not the leader of the Avengers, don’t you, Hale? T’Challa is. Any queries should really go through Okoye as your personal Director."

"Sure," Gorilla-Man says, but launches into his problem anyway. By the time Steve escapes—with the promise that yes, he’ll send a copy of one of his super-villain-spotting tests to all the new Agents of Wakanda—Tony’s nowhere to be seen. Again. _Dammit._

#

This dream is dark at the edges, and Steve’s standing on a baseball field, and everyone’s laughing. There’s a hand stretching far into the sky, further than it should, and that’s when Steve realizes it’s Reed Richards, his arm _literally_ stretching to grab a ball, and then he’s stumbling over nothing, and then there’s wonder in his stomach, because it’s not over nothing, it’s the Invisible Woman, and he’s laughing—he’s T’Challa and he’s laughing in joy, surrounded by his new friends, sound in the knowledge that maybe everything’s going to be okay after all—

It’s a good dream. It’s a really pleasant memory. There’s no reason why Steve should feel so wretched when he wakes up. He blinks several times and stares at the ceiling and hates that it comes to him slowly. The mindwipe. The idea that he’d had days of his memories just stripped away, and it wasn’t by Tony’s hands, but it might as well have been. This whole jumble in his head, the Uni-Mind remnants, feels exactly the same as when he realized there was a hole in his mind: like some part of him has been irrevocably violated.

There hadn’t been enough days taken from him then that Steve could piece together what had been stolen. He had to make do back then with mental leaps that left him aching and angry. There’s no way to piece together where the memories are coming from now. He wonders about asking one of T’Challa’s medical staff whether they have a drug strong enough that could knock him out into a dreamless sleep, but it’s not even the dreams causing it, not really. It’s that between-sleep-and-awake state that really gets him.

Sometimes it even happens if Steve lets himself stop for a moment. He’ll be punching a holo version of himself in the face, because who says his internal melodrama can’t be on the nose about what’s bothering him the most. Sometimes—somehow—fights are as close to a _zen_ moment as Steve can ever get, because his body and his mind know how to fight as easily as he knows how to breathe. He had a golden memory last night during another bout, someone watching Steve on a monitor talking to a gray box, and Steve finally realized the box contained Tony’s comatose body just in time for the holo simulation to punch him in the jaw.

The simulation automatically ended, because even though the concussive sound blasts that make up the hologram’s punches were dialed down to low, Steve was still floored. He lay there for just a moment and pushed the thought aside, but now he can’t stop thinking about it, this memory of a _memory,_ and he abruptly needs to know more about it.

Broo, Steve decides. He needs to find Broo.

#

Broo is up in the observation room, as usual. Half Steve’s height, he’s wearing a lab coat over an immaculately tailored suit and watching twenty monitors at once, his quick eyes darting effortlessly between them. Broo’s intelligence is said to be on par with Tony’s, which is sometimes difficult to believe, if only because _Tony’s_ intelligence is sometimes difficult to believe. Either because of the mind-spinning ways Tony’s managed to save the planet over the last decade, or because Tony’s a self-declared super genius who Steve has personally seen trip over his own goddamned feet more than once when he thinks no one is watching.

"Ah, Captain Rogers," Broo says, reaching out and sliding on a pair of glasses before hopping off his chair to come and greet Steve.

Steve solemnly shakes his hand, remembering that Broo enjoys formalities. "Good afternoon, Broo."

"I presume there’s something you require assistance with," Broo says, and tilts his head. "I’m afraid I don’t have time to go to tea if _that’s_ what you’re here to suggest."

Steve mentally notes to prepare afternoon tea for him at some point soon. "I’m afraid it’s the former today."

Broo nods. "There has been no update on the status of your friend Hammond, although I am sure our reconstruction is going smoothly."

"Thank you," Steve says, his stomach knotting for a moment. He catches a tinge of a _green_ memory in the back of his head, another Uni-Mind flashback, of Jennifer looking at a photo of the _other_ Human Torch, wondering if she was doing him justice as his replacement. Steve pushes that thought away. "No, I was just—trying to get in contact with Tony about something else, actually. He’s avoiding me."

Broo freezes, just for a moment. For anyone else it might be imperceptible, but for Steve, it’s painfully obvious. "I’m afraid it’s not in my protocols to talk about what _any_ Avenger is using their personal time for."

"Even if it’s on Avengers property," Steve tries, gently, but Broo is already shaking his head.

"Privacy is an important thing, especially in such close quarters," Broo says. "I suggest you talk to him yourself, Captain." And he’s already turning away to jump back up on his chair, shoulders sagging a little like Steve’s disappointed him somehow, and well, yes, Steve supposes that’s not too far off the mark.

"I’m just—I know he’s up to something, and I was just worried it was—harmful," Steve starts, and even though his face is turned away, he can still see Broo’s toothy mouth turning down at the edges, which is frustrating, because Steve doesn’t mean it like that. He doesn’t think he means it like that. "To himself, I mean. I’m worried it’s harmful to himself."

There’s a long silence as Broo digests his words.

"As far as I can tell," Broo says, slowly, "he’s building something. Now, what that is...I can’t tell you. But I’ve seen him bring materials in that aren’t registered, and he never leaves with them. That’s as much as I know."

"You haven’t explored it further?"

Broo shrugs. "He’s hardly going to be building a bomb with what he brings in. And besides, it’s _Stark._ He may be an acquired taste—and I suppose I’ve acquired it—but...there’s not many self-professed geniuses who accept input from others. He is one such man. In my opinion, he deserves the benefit of any doubts I might have, if anyone else was acting that way. The ego he projects..." Broo shakes his head, his gaze softening like he’s staring off into a horizon only he can see. "It's just as much armor as his Iron Man suit.”

Steve swallows, because he’s had that thought before, more often than most, he thinks. Too many people buy into Tony’s performative narcissism. Steve knows him well enough to know the ego Tony projects to the world isn't the same as the ego burning away inside him, and his chest feels tight at the idea someone else has seen it too. He’s happy to know that he’s not the only one.

"Besides," Broo says, shrugging, "there’s not many of us who can pull off a suit as well as he and I can."

Steve pulls a wry smile. "You look smarter than he ever does."

Broo sniffs and tugs at his tie. "Of course I do." He pauses and looks back at Steve. "Is there anything else I can help you with?"

Steve swallows hard and thinks about that golden memory, of someone watching a monitor, of Tony’s comatose face in a box, of the Supreme Commander leaning over Tony’s prone body, smirking, _gloating,_ and he shakes his head. Broo would be able to find that security footage. "That’s all for now."

"Quite," Broo says. He tilts his head. "Thursday a week from now might be acceptable. For the afternoon tea you intended to invite me to."

Steve smiles, realizing he’s been subtly guilt-tripped into having afternoon tea with the mutant. He doesn’t even mind. It’s a nice idea. "I’ll see you in the kitchen at 4pm, unless something comes up."

Broo beams at the monitors. "I’ll fix your schedule if it does."

#

Tony’s building something, Broo had said. He’s flown in with supplies, and not flown out with them. Steve’s imagination is doing somersaults. He trains with Robbie until it’s late, then goes for a run around the intestinal tract, counting prison cells and trying not to think about them ever being full, and when he collapses into bed, he tries to drift off when he’s struck with a faint white-gold memory that pushes him down to the ground, because it’s just _screaming—_

— _she can’t parse what she’s looking at, and then she can, and it’s Rhodey, and he’s alive, oh god, how could he be alive, he was dead, and he’s alive, and it’s Tony’s fault, no, Tony’s a genius, and oh god, the guilt, her own power just smashing into Tony, full force, and Tony falls, and it’s all her fault, oh god, oh god, it’s all her fault, she dragged Rhodey to a battle and got him killed, and now it’s her own fingers coated in Tony’s blood, and she’s screaming, she’s killed him, how could she be such an abomination, this whole thing, none of it’s worth it, it’s Tony’s own fault, right, he stood in the way, he shouldn’t have stood in the way, she didn’t break him, he shouldn’t have been standing there, it’s all Tony’s fault—_

Steve screams too, he can’t help it, just a burst of sound that rings out in the room. _Not a room,_ his brain chimes in, unhelpfully. _A cavity or a ventricle or maybe it’s a bronchiole because we’re in the lungs right now._ The sound echoes in the large space and Steve hunches up into a sitting position, arms around his knees as far as he can reach. It’s different from how he used to cower before, without the serum, when he was all awkward angles and bones and if he hugged his knees to his chest, his arms would easily overlap. Now his muscles get in the way, and even though he’s flexible, his hands barely touch behind his knees.

None of them have emerged from the last couple of years unscathed. Hell, this whole decade has been a roller coaster of highs and lows, only a few constants. He rubs at his eyes and straightens, padding across the floor to write Bernie an e-mail, because she’s one of the few constants at most of his peaks. God, she deserved so much better. He should probably tell her that, one of these days.

E-mail written, he opens up a schematic of Avengers Mountain that T’Challa had included in one of their briefings, and he squints at it. _If I were Tony Stark, and I was building something, where would I be?_

The mountain is impossibly tall. When the tower had been their base, it had over ninety floors, and Steve barely managed to visit every single one in their time there. Avengers Mountain makes Stark Tower look small. There’s a dirty thought in there somewhere that Tony would probably be glad to make.

Steve huffs and refocuses his energy on the problem at hand. _If I were Tony Stark, and I was building something, where would I be?_ It wouldn’t be anywhere too obviously abandoned, like the Progenitor’s left foot, because that would take too long to reach. It wouldn’t be somewhere too close to the heart, because Steve knows enough about Tony’s dislike of magic to know he wouldn’t want the teleportation site to interfere with _anything_ he’s building. It won’t be in the butt, because that’s where Carol got Broo to assign Tony’s personal workspace, because she’s a beautiful troll with _issues_ , and Steve knows for sure if Tony’s building something secret, it wouldn’t be as obvious as _that_. Besides, Tony’s labs are always password-locked, and even when the password is inevitably something dumb (you’d think someone so desperate to be seen as self-obsessed might remember his own birthdate at _some_ point), Steve doesn’t want to leave trace of the fact that he’s actively hunting Tony down now, because Tony will spook and Steve will _never_ find what he’s working on.

Then Steve remembers the celery and frowns. What would need celery? That implies possibly something…bio-organic? That’s not Tony’s usual area of expertise, but it’s something to narrow things down. The Alpha Flight and Wakandan technicians only routed electricity and water to a limited number of places, which is why only a couple of the bedrooms have full bathrooms, and why most of them have to use the communal showers. It will be somewhere with electricity, or at least—somewhere Tony can reroute electricity. He doesn’t want to be found.

 _If I were Tony Stark, and I was building something, where would I be?_ Steve thinks, a third time, and then he sees it. Up in the left leg’s thigh. The left leg has been mostly abandoned, earmarked for storage in the future, but there are a few floors that are worthy candidates. Close enough for Tony to reach easily, but not be too out of the way.

Steve feels positive he’s on the right track, and he can’t think of a reason to not go immediately; he slips his shoes back on and heads for the back stairs, moving quickly and quietly in case he’s right about the where but wrong about the when. Late at night is when Tony does his best work, so in theory he should be already _in_ this secret location, or maybe he’s up in his lab...either way, Steve is feeling pretty confident about his theory.

He can’t hear Tony on the stairs so he increases his pace, and the first floor he checks is empty, but then he descends another flight of stairs and has to resist the urge to fist pump when he sees a sliver of light under a door. There’s no reason anyone should be down here.

Steve advances cautiously, hurrying down the stairs, eyes trained on the door, hearing focused. He thinks he can hear the sound of hammering. It’s probably weird that he immediately thinks _that’s Tony’s hammering_. He’s heard it enough. It’s probably one of his favorite sounds of the 21st century, even if that’s probably also a weird thought. There’s something reassuring about the noise of Tony making something.

Steve keeps his breathing low and even, and tiptoes towards the door, pushing it open quietly, hoping not to rapidly disturb Tony. He sees Tony at first, back turned to the door as he hammers at something, and the noise makes Steve confidently push the door open the rest of the way, and then Steve freezes.

Whatever Tony’s building down here is both massive and incomprehensible, filling what looks like the entire width of this floor of the leg, with a narrow human-sized walkway neatly bisecting it. There are levels within, and what looks like some sort of light-barrier enclosing the intricate construction. It’s well-lit throughout.

Steve stops in the doorway and just stares in confusion. He doesn’t know what he was expecting—Broo said it wasn’t a bomb, but it could still have been some sort of weapon, perhaps, a shameful project from a supposedly-retired-weaponeer, someone whose last weapon was really fucking _devastating—_ but it wasn’t _this_.

At first, Steve really doesn’t understand what he’s looking at. The whole is greater than the sum of its parts, but _parts are_ all Steve can see for an interminably long moment—a series of boxes, towers, and ramps, multiple levels connected with small stairs and holes, glass containers of feed with timers attached, a few cameras at strategic points—until the parts coalesce into the whole and Steve is stunned into silence.

It’s a high-tech tiny little sprawling _city._ Filling the space from floor to ceiling. Bafflingly complex and beautifully designed. And then it gets _weirder._

Because as Steve continues to stare, a long furry nose emerges from a box that seems to be stuffed with straw, followed by some twitching whiskers, and bright, curious eyes. As the entire creature appears, Steve stares some more.

He knows what he’s looking at now.

Tony’s built some sort of microcosm of the city he created last year, but the occupant of this tiny version appears to be a rat. Or rats _plural_ , Steve realizes, seeing another one emerge onto a small bridge that Tony’s constructed between two high buildings atop two towers. This one glances over in Steve’s direction before scurrying across the bridge at high speed.

Steve swallows and stares some more. He supposes he knows what he’s looking at now, a really spectacularly advanced rat cage.

It’s the _why_ that escapes him.

Tony looks just as stunned as he is. It’s probably because he clearly didn’t expect to see Steve here. _Busted,_ Steve thinks, wryly. Tony’s not in his usual suit. He’s in casual working gear: a tight tank top and sweatpants that hang loosely on his hips, exposing a slight seam of skin that catches Steve’s attention more than it should. Tony’s standing barefoot on the metal tiles, a pair of sneakers abandoned off to one side, socks balled up neatly inside.

It’s a good look on Tony, Steve thinks, and swallows hard, because that sort of thought—he always has to push them aside the quickest. That’s his entire brain at the moment, stuck in constant loops of emotion and denial.

"So, uh," Tony says, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck with one hand as he looks down at this tiny, futuristic rat metropolis. "You weren’t really supposed to know about this, I guess."

When Steve finds his voice, it’s a little thinner than he’d like. "Are you experimenting on them?"

"You know, I’m actually torn between mild outrage that you’d accuse me of that, and resigned acceptance that I’ve given you enough cause to think it." Tony’s eyes flicker over as one of the rats goes up to a glass container of food, noses at the hole, and a small amount of food is automatically dispensed into a small dish below.

Steve’s stomach knots. Tony brings out the worst in him sometimes. "I didn’t mean it to sound like an accusation."

Tony looks up at him then, something indefinable in his expression. "Of course you did, Cap. But that’s okay."

"So why—"

Tony chews at his lower lip, and huffs, and puts his hands on his hips, looking frustrated. "I don’t know—it’s not important, Cap."

Steve wrinkles his mouth. Maybe he needs a different approach. "Can you at least tell me why you’re down here right now in _particular_ , then?" He gestures at Tony’s tool. "What are you working on?"

Tony sighs and then gestures loosely at the city. "Solving a cleaning problem. I’m hoping to try and install some automated cleaning bots; I brought Andy Bhang into my company because of his IBS system, intuitive self-learning—" Apparently Steve’s confusion is clear on his face, because Tony hurriedly dumbs down his rambling. "—it’s a work-in-progress, let’s leave it at that. Eventually, I’ll be able to install that and then the system will need much less constant maintenance—"

It’s still not making that much sense to Steve. "In English, Tony?"

Tony glances at him, blinking. "Uh, right. At the moment, StarkRats—that’s what I called it, obviously—"

"Obviously."

"It needs manually cleaning out, so—that’s why I’m here," Tony says, and he looks a little wild-eyed, but there’s no hint of a lie in his tone or posture. "To, uh. Poop scoop. Essentially."

"Poop scoop," Steve repeats, slowly. "You poop scoop...this entire room?"

"Well," Tony says, squinting at the rat city, "I can scan most of the areas to avoid some parts that haven’t yet been occupied, which I assume they eventually will, because, _rats,_ they can breed—but I mean—there’s a system. There’s a resonance that rats don’t like, very Pied Piper of Hamelin, when I play it I can usher them from one quadrant into another for cleaning purposes so I’m not—I’ve lost you again, haven’t I?"

Steve frowns at him. "Perhaps we should go back to the _why_."

"I don’t—"

" _Tony_."

Sometimes Tony has really dumb passwords, like jokes at Steve’s expense, or, _really_ stupid passwords, like _Captain America_ to unlock his armory, or Steve’s birthday, because Tony can’t remember his own, but he can remember Steve’s no problem. It’s probably something to do with that—that _thing_ they never talk about, that lingers in-between what they say to each other.

Steve’s never realized he can use Tony’s name like it’s a password too, a key to unlock the last remnant of Tony’s reluctance.

Tony sags and looks at Steve helplessly. "When we were in the Uni-Mind, and we disconnected—we've all been left with a jumble of memories, emotions, just a mess of them. Vision told me when it happened to him, he was only able to pull a few fragments of thoughts out of that jumble."

"I’d been in a Uni-Mind before yours too," Steve reminds him. "But I guess I was unconscious at the time, so the _other people's memories thing_ didn't affect me so badly."

Tony’s mouth pushes briefly into a line, like he’s regretful about it, like he’s somehow to _blame_ , even though it was amazing and it’s what gave Robbie the opportunity to save them. The side effects are a relatively low cost, considering the prices they’ve paid before for salvation.

"The first night after the Uni-Mind, I was having a mess of mental images that didn’t make sense. I thought it was just...stress recoil, a residual headache from connecting us all together," Tony says, softly. "Until the morning after, and that's when I realized what was really happening, that it was Uni-Mind blowback, because this one memory came through. And it was _so clear_ , and I _knew_ it wasn’t mine."

Tony turns to look at him then and Steve swallows, his mouth suddenly dry. "It was mine?"

Tony nods, his eyes scraping across Steve’s face like there’s an answer to a riddle to be unlocked somewhere on his features. "You were in the ‘Don. Just...sitting in the dark, chained up, falsely imprisoned, the weight of the world on your shoulders. And you felt something nibbling at your toes, and it was a rat, and instead of being upset, you were sad. _For the rat._ That it was just as trapped as you were."

Steve fleetingly remembers the moment Tony is describing. It had been a hell of a summer. Framed for a murder he didn’t commit, forced to turn himself into the law, and then imprisoned in the dank depths of the Myrmidon among supervillains, Steve barely thought he’d survive. Especially during the week he spent alone in an unlit cell, chained to the wall, his only company a single rat. The moment where he felt upset for the rat had been a single, stray thought, there and gone again. Nothing he’d lingered over. He stares at Tony, perplexed.

Tony continues. "So when I figured it out, I thought, _why the damn hell not_. So...I went to jailbreak the rat. Except I got there and it wasn't as easy as I thought it was gonna be, because...y’know. _Rats_. How could I figure out which damn rat it was?"

Steve feels like he’s going somewhat insane, to be honest. But he just nods, because Tony’s wound up in an emotion that makes Steve’s heart jerk against his ribs, and he feels a little dizzy and disconnected from the ground. His voice barely sounds like his own when he asks, "So you...took them all?"

"Well, not at first." Tony looks at him wildly and starts pacing back and forth, gesturing as he moves. "At that point, I thought it was a ridiculous idea, so I turned around and left. But on the flight home, all I could feel was your compassion for them, just—like _burning_. Right through my skull. It wasn’t going away, just round and round in my head, so I...caved, turned back around, and stole _all_ the rats. Busted them right out of the jail." There’s a light in Tony’s face that implies that the breakout is a hell of a story all on its own.

"And you brought them here," Steve says, proud of himself that his voice is so even when his brain is still shrieking _what_ at him, increasing in pitch at every repetition.

"Yeah," Tony says, matter-of-factly. "And I had cages ready for them, and plans, y’know, decent plans. But then it was—it was too much, I’d just swapped one big prison to lots of small prisons for them. So that was _worse_ , so I had to—expand the cages."

"Okay..."

"And however much bigger I made them," Tony shakes his head, eyes drifting back to the rats, "it didn’t matter, they were penned in, they weren’t free, so I kept—I just kept building."

Steve’s chest feels tight, like something really heavy just dropped into his lungs. "You made them a home," he says, the realization thick and almost suffocating.

"Well, I’m trying to," Tony continues, almost conversationally, like he doesn’t realize Steve’s sort of falling to pieces right next to him, because Tony’s done all this for Steve, from just one thought, and it’s too much. Steve’s face feels weird. "It’s still a work-in-progress, and I think I can expand to the floor below, once I’ve figured out how to automate the cleaning process a little."

Steve’s stuck on the one part that’s making his head spin. His body feels light, like he’s been forcefully carbonated somehow, his insides fizzing and jolting. "But—you made them a home."

Tony blinks and startles to a stop. His gaze cautiously seeks out Steve’s and then locks tight. "Yes, of course."

"Because I was sad about one rat," Steve repeats, and there, there must be something in his voice there, because Tony’s confident, conversational tone falters.

"Yes," Tony repeats, waveringly.

"For one second," Steve says, desperate for clarification on this point because it feels suddenly, incredibly important.

"Well, okay, when you put it that way, maybe I went overboard." Tony throws up his hands helplessly. "I just...I had to. They were stuck, and I..."

"You built them a home," Steve repeats. "For me."

Tony pulls a face like he’s reluctant to say it, but then quickly agrees, "Yep."

"In the leg of a dead giant alien robot."

"I’m pretty sure the Celestials weren’t robots," Tony says, the argumentative notes making his face fold back into something more contemplative, but then he frowns instead. "But—yes."

"Because I was sad," Steve sounds out, testing the idea out loud.

Tony nods like it should be obvious. "Because you were sad," he repeats.

Steve sort of wants to smash his face into a wall, because is Tony really this oblivious to the massive thing he’s done? Tony might as well have painted his goddamn feelings in a hundred feet high letters on a wall. They’ve never been so transparent about this _thing_ simmering between them. It’s always been at a level both of them could plausibly deny, but this—this is too obvious for denial. Too big. Too much. "Tony—"

"Yes?"

Steve’s trying to think of the right words, he really is. But there’s a rat metropolis sprawling out behind Tony, a brilliant construction of tiny buildings and comfortable functionality, and Tony’s been working on it for days, because of him. _For_ him. Based on one tiny erroneous thought. He has so many things he wants to say, but Steve opens his mouth to start trying to say at least some of them, and he can’t help himself.

Tony’s looking at him, almost perplexed. It’s a heady rush, because Steve thinks about how he’s the only one who ever manages to surprise Tony, and he thinks about Tony sneaking off to build a home for the rats, just because Steve felt sorry for _one_ rat _once_ , and Steve’s heart feels like it wants to burst in his chest, because this man is _ridiculous_ , and Steve, oh god, Steve loves him so much.

He’s loved Tony for so long, and he’s forgotten every single reason he’s ever told himself why they can’t do this, why it’s a bad idea, why they’re gasoline and a match, a loose electrical wire in a flooded room, a runaway train and not enough track—because Tony’s built the rats somewhere to live. He’s built them a _home._

Steve moves swiftly, as he always does in battle even when he hasn’t consciously decided on his next move, and he lets himself have what he’s always wanted.

Tony sinks into the kiss with a noise Steve feels right through to the soles of his feet. Oh god. It’s perfect. It’s absolutely perfect. It’s as wonderful and addictive as Steve always thought it would be. He’s spent a decade thinking about what it would be like to kiss Tony Stark, and he’s just never let it happen. Until now.

So much of life has felt temporary since waking up in modern times. Steve’s learned to take so many moments for the present, for the here-and-now, and he’s verbally chosen the future over the past a hundred times now, but this feels like the seal to that promise. The binding contract. The future is under his hands, his fingers gently cupping the curve of Tony’s skull, and the future is kissing him back.

#

So. Kissing Tony. That’s a thing that Steve has done now, and there’s no taking it back. And here’s a delightful discovery: Tony really likes kissing.

Steve’s somewhat surprised Tony has a couch in his mountain workshop, because it’s definitely not in the same sleek style as the rest of the furniture in Avengers Mountain. Tony offhandedly says he had it flown in, and Steve can picture how it must have happened: Tony personally flying the couch over two thousand miles from New York, just casually carrying it in the armor.

Steve’s surprised by the couch, but he’s not surprised to find himself pushed onto it within a minute of Tony letting him in to show him the facilities. It’s a very nice couch. Soft and large enough for Steve to sit back and look up as Tony carefully cups his face, and Steve smiles up at him, and Tony can’t help but smile back, and Steve leans up so they can press their smiles against each other, and it’s—oh, it’s certainly something difficult to put into words.

It’s easy. It’s just so easy. It’s like that first kiss opened the floodgates and the reasons to _not_ do this are just...gone. And it is just so easy to pull Tony closer, to draw their faces together, and to kiss like they can maybe touch their minds together as closely as their minds had touched in the Uni-Mind. There they were mixed up with the others, but here it’s just the two of them, and it’s _Tony,_ under his touch, against his lips, these tiny addictive noises spilling out of his mouth like Tony just can’t help himself, and Steve can’t get enough.

It’s like Tony’s the heat that Steve’s been searching for since the moment he came out of the ice. Like the last large missing piece has suddenly slid into place.

"With your coloring, you’re very lucky to have a healing factor," Tony murmurs, and he moves away slightly, and Steve hears this _sound_ , and he’s embarrassed to realize it’s from his own mouth. "Sshh, sweetheart, I’m just getting comfortable." Tony swings his leg so he’s straddling Steve, and oh, that’s good. Steve reaches for him again and Tony presses closer.

"Why am I lucky to have a healing factor?" Steve manages to murmur, in-between four or five more kisses, each one feeling deeply necessary and urgent.

"Just...it would probably be very unbecoming for Captain America to be dashing around with stache rash."

Steve probably shouldn’t be wondering how long a hickey would take to heal, and how difficult it would be to persuade Tony to bite him. Just a little. He thinks they both might like that. He’s never thought about it before, but Tony just—makes it so easy to _want_ things, in a way he hasn’t let himself want before. He knows Tony can take everything and anything he can give. He’s starting to get the feeling that Tony wants to. Steve can’t help himself. He has to push his mouth into the curve of Tony’s neck to taste the skin there. This just shouldn’t be so _easy,_ Steve thinks, one of his hands spreading over Tony’s back possessively, and he can feel the muscles beneath bunch and squeeze as Tony’s head drops back a little.

"Why is this so easy?" Steve says, one hand sliding around Tony’s waist.

"I’d say it’s pretty hard myself," Tony says.

Steve tries to pull back and give Tony a displeased look for changing the subject, but Tony undulates against him, just slightly, and Steve’s vision goes white, just for a second, and oh. Steve’s mouth finds Tony’s and they kiss, somehow frantic and careful all at once, and Steve’s skin feels alight at every single point Tony’s fingers touch him. He sinks a hand into Tony’s hair and god, it’s so soft, he’ll never be able to unfeel that sensation, never be able to forget it. He’ll always know now what it feels like to put his hands against Tony’s skin. He’ll always know what it feels like to feel just a little more complete.

He knew it would be bad, letting himself love Tony. He didn’t know it would feel like he was being consumed and reborn all in the same second.

"We should probably talk," Tony sighs, which is what they said last night, after that first glorious kiss. And then the makeout session against the wall. And then the hour after Tony insisted on cleaning up the rat cages, and Steve helped, just so it would be done faster, so he could lower Tony to the floor and kiss him for an hour, because, well, it felt important at the time.

Unfortunately, "we should probably talk" had been a magical password itself last night, and every time one of them said it, it just led to more kissing. If Tony hadn’t been pulled away last minute by some sort of emergency at _Stark Unlimited,_ Steve thinks they probably would have kissed all the way to whoever’s bedroom was closest. Or maybe even whichever room had a lockable door and didn’t also have a hundred rats staring at them.

"We really should," Steve says, and yeah, that’s not going to work, he needs to take drastic measures. His eyes dart to the locked workroom door and he blurts, "Carol!" before he can convince himself that kissing Tony for a few more hours is a very good idea. It is a very good idea.

Unfortunately, Tony takes his shout literally and basically falls off the couch. He immediately sprints up, hand outstretched like he’s about to repulsor blast an intruder, except he’s not even in his armor, and then he looks instantly downcast, like he absolutely _hates_ his first impulse was to maybe fake-repulsor blast Carol.

Tony and Carol’s relationship has been unmistakably rocky of late. Carol works with Tony decently when they’re on a mission out in the world, but once they get in the Mountain, something changes in her. She’s snappy with Tony, mean with it, and Tony just _takes_ it, or actively winds her up more. Maybe it’s because their base is a giant corpse. Steve thinks about pushing for a rebrand during their next meeting. They could at least re-name the facilities so it’s easier to forget they’re living and working in a dead body.

Clearly Tony hasn’t been as cool about her bad attitude as he’s been pretending he is, if his first reaction is to attack her. Tony takes a few deep breaths before lowering his hand. His eyes swing suspiciously back to Steve.

"Sometimes," Tony says, with a fake imperious expression, "you can be a little shit, Steve Rogers."

Steve laughs. "Just sometimes?"

"Well, I wasn’t going to be the one to say it," Tony says, still in that faux pompous tone, but then he shakes his head ruefully. "Okay, yes, you have a point. We really do need to talk." He exhales, and carefully lowers himself to the couch, deliberately keeping a small distance between them, and Steve hates that it’s necessary. He hates how he just really wants to throw himself at Tony again and make up for all these years of wanting and repressing, cycle and repeat, over and over.

"We do need to talk," Steve says, as evenly as he can. His eyes lock on Tony’s. He opens his mouth to say something, and he thinks he might be able to do it, but then the room flashes red and Tony just makes this _noise_ and thumps his face into hands, and Steve understands that completely. The call to assemble thunders through the mountain.

"We’re definitely talking later," Tony says, already up and heading for the door.

Steve smiles at him weakly and follows.

#

Tony’s not back yet, having had to deviate off to _Stark Unlimited_ and Steve can’t sleep, so he heads down to the rat city to take his mind off things. Tony showed him how the mechanism worked, and there’s something soothing about physical labor. As he sweeps and cleans, Steve’s struck again by all the work Tony’s put into this little odd home for them.

Tony does that so much, hours of work behind the scenes. Hours of work they maybe don’t always notice or appreciate. Steve thinks about how many hours Tony must have been down here, alone, in the dark. He hates it. He _hates_ it. He needs Tony to understand that he doesn’t have to be alone, and yet, Tony’s off dealing with his company alone, and Steve has his own life too, and this continuing problem with Namor that he hates _having_ to call a problem.

With the StarkRats (one day Tony _will_ stop putting his name on everything, surely?) cleaned up, Steve heads back up the stairs to his room, sitting down at the desk there, pulling out the file he’s been working on to update T’Challa about the work he’s been doing with the Invaders. The Daughters of Liberty have promised him an update soon, but there’s nothing yet from them. He has a file purely filled with information about Namor that the Agents of Wakanda have been compiling, and he picks that up to read, but after a few minutes, he stops.

He’s uncomfortable, that’s the problem. Steve shifts on the chair for a long moment, and then he thinks about Tony’s soft couch. Tony wouldn’t mind if he used it, he’s pretty sure. Steve packs up and quickly makes his way there. When he remembers that Tony’s lab is in one of the Progenitor’s buttocks, he doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

The doors to Tony’s lab open on his approach, which Steve thinks might be a security flaw, except he notes the array of cameras and sensors nestled subtly around the door frame and realizes Tony’s programmed it to open as easily to Steve as it does to himself. Steve wonders whether it’s a recent change and realizes with an odd feeling in the pit of his stomach that Tony’s probably always had it programmed this way.

Tony’s not here, but that’s okay. Steve can wait. He sits back on the couch, flashing back pleasantly to the last time they were sat on it together, and puts the file on the floor, meaning to read it while he waits for Tony. He closes his eyes for just a second, and that’s his mistake.

The dream that comes to him is faded, soft-white— _memory, memory, someone else’s memory_ Steve’s mind sings at him—and it’s pain. It’s the Hulk’s fist, slamming into him, and his mouth fills with blood.

It’s Thor’s memory. Thor’s mouth fills with blood, the punch knocking loose a tooth.

"B-by Odin," Thor whimpers.

"Daddy can’t help you now," Hulk snarls, and then Thor is looking—he’s looking at Steve himself.

"Thor, get behind me," memory Steve says, hunched up behind his shield protectively. In Thor’s perspective, Steve’s an anchor, a giant, bigger somehow than he is in real life. It’s almost humbling.

"Look, it’s Captain Hydra!" the Hulk snarls, bearing down on the cowering Steve. "When I rip off your head, will two more takes its place?"

Steve in the memory is angry, grimacing in obvious pain just from the words. "That… wasn’t _me_!"

He thinks that’s what he’s shouting as he wakes up, " _That wasn’t me, that wasn’t me_!" because his throat is burning and his ears are ringing, and he’s just so desperate for someone to understand, for someone to _believe_ that it wasn’t him. The Supreme Commander had his face, had his _body_ , had his _name_ and his _memories_ , but it wasn’t him, someone has to believe that, someone has to—

"Sshh, sshh, sweetheart, it’s all right, it’s all right," Tony soothes, and Steve blinks rapidly, reality folding slowly back into his awareness. He’s still on Tony’s couch, and Tony’s arms are around him. "Another Uni-Mind flashback, huh?"

Steve breathes hard for a moment and then just nods, because even saying _yes_ feels like it’s too much. "It was, uh, um—" He closes his eyes. It’s so hard to talk about. Steve feels the couch dip as Tony commits to sitting next to him, and he lets Tony tug him into his side.

"You don’t have to talk about it," Tony whispers. "Goodness knows some of the flashes I’ve been having are...painful." He huffs a laugh that isn’t amused. "Carol’s mind is a _war zone_."

"It was a memory I was part of myself," Steve says. Quietly speaking it into the curve of Tony’s neck doesn’t make it feel so terrifying. "Just from a few weeks ago. The, uh, the green alert."

Tony’s face pales, but he nods, and his hands tighten around Steve comfortingly. "That wasn’t you. Steve. It wasn’t you."

"Wasn’t it?" Steve looks up at Tony then, stares him right in the face. "Your AI faced him. You must have the reports, if not his memories too—"

"My AI seems to have more of my memories than _I_ did." Tony looks haunted for a second, and then he shakes himself and leans in, resting his forehead against Steve’s. "That was just a monster who was wearing your face, Steve. Evil will always try to corrupt the brightest symbol of good. And you’re the brightest symbol of goodness we have." He cups Steve’s cheek in one hand, his thumb resting against Steve’s jaw, and it makes it so much easier to listen to Tony and believe him.

Steve’s fingers tighten in his hold on Tony’s sleeve. He’d almost forgotten about the...other Tony. The inverted one. Superior Iron Man, Supreme Commander. Grotesque caricatures, taking their most corruptible impulses to their extreme. Tony’s ego had left him alone and bitter. Steve’s integrity and righteousness, dialed to the maximum in the polar opposite direction. The worst possible outcomes. Steve prefers to blank that entire period of time from his mind when he can.

Tony realizes Steve’s not going to respond, so he continues to talk, his voice low and soothing. "It’s always difficult when we see someone that could have been us if we’d been unlucky, with just the slightest change in our past. And it’s even more difficult when you’re dealing with their actions, too. But you’re not at fault here, Steve. There’s not a single thing you could have done better. You can’t take the blame for any of this. I see you doing that, taking the hate from people silently, and I hate it. I _hate_ it. You always do the right thing."

"Not always," Steve says, his voice hoarse, and he stares at Tony miserably. "Tony, not always."

Tony looks at him sadly. "You’re not responsible for the entire world, Steve. Do you always do your best?"

"Well, yes, but—"

"Then there is no _but,_ " Tony says. "Especially as we’re currently _in_ a butt." He squints. "I don’t know what Broo was thinking when he assigned me this location, but I’m pretty sure there’s an amazing pun I’m missing out on making."

Steve considers it for a moment. "Crack lab?"

Tony laughs, delighted. "Perfect."

Steve smiles. He hasn’t heard Tony laugh for much too long, not in that carefree, genuinely happy way. The idea that it’s _him_ eliciting that sound warms him. "Enough about me, how are you?"

"Eh," Tony says. "Rebuilding after the last fiasco is stressful, you know how it is. The compensation is all sorted, some new tech is on the horizon, now I’m just chasing up on loose ends and—making amends." His next smile is almost sad. "I may have alienated some friends again. You know how that song goes."

Steve’s face is probably mirroring Tony’s expression. He can’t help but think of Namor. "We’ve got time to fix things." He swallows and straightens, reluctantly pulling away from Tony, and casts around, picking up his file. "I should probably go and read this, Bucky’s got some new intel, apparently, so—"

"About Namor?" Tony’s voice turns sharp. "Of course. Intel’s what you need. Especially considering what’s coming."

"I’m not going to start a _war_ ," Steve starts, his voice low. He gets to his feet, a wash of feeling crushing through his mind that he thinks must be his, because it’s a sledgehammer of despair, and he keeps feeling it whenever he thinks of Namor, staring at him, words of conflict on his lips. They’re friends, Steve is so sure they’re still friends. Namor will come around, he _has_ to.

"Start it or not, it’s leading to war," Tony says.

They were supposed to be talking when Tony got back, but Steve thought they meant about their relationship. But maybe this counts. He hates that it does. He doesn’t want this to be the topic of conversation.

"I don’t want to talk about this," Steve says, and quickly turns, heading for the doors. He thinks maybe Tony will let him flee, but that’s a dumb thought, because of course, Tony follows him, matching his pace down the stairs.

"You don’t want to talk about this _why_?" Tony laughs, the sound dry and sharp at once. "Because we’ll argue? Steve, we _always_ argue. That’s not going to change just because we’ve let _this_ be more than something we just aggressively deny…"

Steve’s been struggling to parse what’s happening between him and Tony as it is, but to condense it down to one word, _this_ , feels horribly wrong. How can a single word explain how he feels like his entire body is a galaxy, exploding and contracting, over and over? "We shouldn’t have to argue. It shouldn’t be a problem. It won’t be war, just because you say it should be."

"I don’t think it should be, I’m just saying it _will_ be. Dammit, Steve—you’ve been in my head now, _really in my head,_ is there anything actually terrible in there? Some constantly rolling soundtrack going _yay, war is the best thing ever, let’s do it all the time_?"

Steve stays stubbornly silent.

"But damn right, I think we _should_ go to war with Namor," Tony continues. Steve would normally want to scream at this point in this rapidly-becoming-tired argument. He doesn’t. Maybe because he’s so tired of it. "He’s not going to stop at that _one_ bomb. You know he’s not going to be happy with transforming just one single town into water-breathers. There’s a war with Atlantis brewing, Steve. It’s always been on the horizon. It’s coming even though you don’t want to admit it. It’s gonna happen someday. Deny it."

"I—" Steve starts, but falters.

"See, you can’t deny it." Tony sounds much too triumphant. Steve doesn’t want to turn and see that light he knows he’ll see in Tony’s eyes. "I’d rather it be on my terms than his."

"Of course you would," Steve says, exhaustedly. "You’re the Futurist. So in love with your own vision of what's to come that you’d rather start a war than accept someone else's."

Tony flinches at that a little, but he tilts his chin challengingly. "Because then we can control the outcome, at least to some extent, mitigate the firepower, _limit_ the casualties—when you let the enemy make the first move, that’s when...are you feeling the same as me?" Tony thumps to a stop, and Steve falters too, turning in time to see Tony rubbing his forehead, looking a little confused.

Steve stares. "That we should declare war on one of my _oldest and dearest friends_?"

"No, that this argument is just—boring." Tony squints, his face creasing oddly. "It’s easy? Like we’re just speaking words in a script? Like..."

"Like we’re just arguing out of habit," Steve says, dully. He looks at Tony uncertainly. "Like you’re shouting _war_ repeatedly because I’m expecting you to."

"Well, I do that so I’m sure you’ve thought it through and you just aren’t being stubborn for stubbornness's sake." Tony tilts his head. "Huh."

Steve stares at him. "Do you honestly actually think we should go to war with Atlantis?"

"I think it’s unavoidable. I think it’s been brewing for years. But should we right now?" Tony shrugs. "I know Namor’s planning something. Your friends say he has more of those bombs, and I’m terrified about that. I know Namor and bombs are a bad combination. A very bad combination. I know back when we collected the worst of the egos of this planet together, he was the only one of us that pressed forwards to a place even devils feared to tread."

"I hate every single word you just said," Steve says, honestly.

"You’re not alone." Tony steps down so he’s standing on the same half-landing Steve is.

Tony’s close enough to touch, but they don’t. There’s a charged energy between them that Steve thinks has the same emotional feel as when they do touch, but that energy’s nothing new. That same tension has been there since Steve woke up, a charged tether that he didn’t have a name for before. He didn’t want to put a name to it, in case that name became something he couldn’t bear.

This argument is different, though, and Steve doesn’t even think it’s because they’ve finally put a name to that tether, and they’ve let it wind even tighter between them. Maybe it is because of the Uni-Mind. Because they’ve been close before, but they’ve never been inside each other’s minds until now, and while there have been fragments of fear and anger and pain throughout the recollections, none of them involved had anything remotely dark or evil in the mix. Everyone in the Uni-Mind bond just wanted one thing that ran true to the very core of their essence: to save and protect the Earth.

"You know war with Atlantis is coming at some point," Tony says, and this time it’s in a whisper. "It’s inevitable."

Steve sighs and sags against him. "Yeah. I know." He looks at Tony, desperately. "Give me this time to try and get through to him. I know he’ll hear me. I _know_ he will. And if he doesn’t…" He looks at Tony, desperately. "I know you’re angry with him for what he did, but I am too. He’s my responsibility. Let me decide when we move."

Tony looks angry and then falters, and nods, shortly. "As long as you start to listen to _why_ I’m saying something, rather than shooting me down immediately."

“And if I decide we do need to deal with him, if violence is the only way he’ll stop," Steve says, "I want first shot."

Tony nods. "I guess that’s fair enough. But if you want him brought in alive, you’d better not fail, because if you falter, I’m going to kill him."

Steve stares at Tony wordlessly, and then he just nods, his jaw tense. He hopes beyond hope it doesn’t have to come to that, but if Namor has more of those transformation bombs...it might be necessary. Tony rests his forehead against Steve’s again, and they stay like that for a while, just enjoying the support, and Steve’s thinking about how much Tony has supported him over the years, even back when he didn’t even _know_ it was Tony under that golden mask. Steve closes his eyes, and another memory crawls in.

It’s not his. It’s golden, and sharp, and he’s running towards a death sentence, because he’s in an impossibly large weapon, and he’s bearing down towards Earth, and there’s no chance to escape. There’s one last moment left to still be himself. Soon he won’t be Tony Stark, he’ll be the Godkiller pilot, and that’s all. _Steve,_ Tony thinks, desperately. _Thor. Everyone else. Down to you guys now. You’ll stop him. You’ll stop whatever this turns me into._ Steve physically shakes himself, the fragment of the memory drifting away.

"I’m going to be so relieved when this Uni-Mind shit fades," Tony says. "If he wasn’t already dead, I’d kill Ikaris for giving me the knowledge of how to do it. You know, if I wasn’t so relieved that knowing how to do it helped Robbie save the universe."

"Ah, that pesky universe saving." Steve frowns. "We had any more intel yet on how likely the side-effects are going to last for?"

"T’Challa tracked down Dane last night. If it’s anything like breaking the _Gann Josin_ was for him, he says they’ll fade in a couple more weeks. This was a seven-person bond, not two, so it should be less."

"Good," Steve says, shakily.

Tony's gaze is astute. "You got another memory just now that wasn't yours, didn't you? Where did you go this time?"

"You. It was your memory. I think. When the Rigellian recorder went mad and tried to make you the pilot to the Godkiller." Steve’s eyes feel painfully dry. "And your first thought before you stopped being yourself—it was me. My name. It was just...that was a lot to feel."

Tony's smile is wry, like it was a lot for him to feel in the first place. _"_ My first thought is always you," Tony admits. "That was a heck of a time. Did you ever read my report about it? I know how you feel about paperwork."

"I read all your reports," Steve says, slightly sulkily. "I just kind of almost thought you were making that one up."

"Swear down, all true," Tony says. "I’ll tell you about it over late night toast and tea?"

"Herbal tea," Steve amends.

"Spoilsport," Tony mutters, but he takes Steve’s hand and walks alongside him all the way to the stomach-kitchen, and he doesn’t look remotely like a man who believes anything’s been spoiled at all.

#

They’re sparring, all seven of them, and Steve has to admit this is one of his favorite things about being an Avenger. There’s a lot of empty space to fight in, and it’s good to get some practice fighting together.

They’re already starting to mesh well as a group, but maybe that’s because they’ve already survived an unfortunately too-often Avenger tradition: the baptism by fire. Steve would like to think that preventing the destruction of the universe by the Horde might make everything else afterward seem like an anticlimax, but it would be a mistake to think like that. It’s never good to think they’ve reached their limit of weird because something bigger always comes along. _Avengers universe,_ his brain whispers, and Steve doesn’t know whose thought that really is, but maybe that’s just what they need.

Jennifer and Thor are engaged in battle in the center of the room, because T’Challa forbade them from taking the same side, and despite their burgeoning relationship, neither of them are holding back when they fight. It’s supposed to be Thor, Tony, and Steve versus the other four, but honestly, like most sparring battles, it’s been a little bit of a free-for-all.

Carol teams up with Jennifer for a moment, which makes Thor grin, and Steve makes a beckoning motion at Robbie because T’Challa and Tony are fighting elegantly, T'Challa easily dodging Tony's repulsor blasts. However, instead of coming right for Steve, Robbie switches places with T’Challa, leaping out as if he's trying to launch a frontal attack, but his hit barely touches Iron Man. Steve’s impressed he tried, already mentally running through the techniques he can teach Robbie to ensure his hits connect, except it turns out the graze is deliberate. Because Robbie’s left something connected to the armor that instantly activates—and Tony stumbles forwards, falling out of the armor entirely.

"Son of a—" Tony yells, but that’s not everything, because T’Challa leaps over him, throwing the suit over towards Robbie, and Steve watches in surprise as Robbie climbs inside the vacant armor.

"It’s coded just to me," Tony says, petulantly, already running to hide behind Steve. Steve beams at him and holds his shield up protectively. "There’s no way you’ll be able to pilot it."

"It's just another vehicle to me, Mr. Stark," Robbie smirks, before pushing down the faceplate.

"Shit," Tony breathes, realizing what's about to happen.

Robbie yells in triumph and Iron Man suddenly blazes into life, fire surrounding the armor in a furor of color. The aflame Iron Man then starts running full-tilt at Steve and his outstretched shield. Steve has to admit it: the mental image of Iron Man running around on fire—especially because he's secure in the knowledge Tony’s not the one inside the armor—is one that’s going to stay with him for a long time.

"I can fix this," Tony’s already muttering, but he looks amused, and Steve knows it’s his favorite part of sparring. Finding any weakness doesn’t get him down, it excites him, because he likes being prepared to anticipate and handle anything an enemy could throw at him. "Okay, okay, I yield. Turn the flames off, Ghost Rider, I surrender."

"I could still probably beat him," Steve murmurs, low enough for just Tony to hear.

"I know," Tony whispers back and grins at him, so brightly, that Steve has to bite his tongue a little so he doesn’t sweep Tony into a kiss right there and then. They all know T’Challa’s opinions about kissing anywhere he can see it.

"The other side has yielded," T’Challa calls out, amid a noise of disappointment. "Avengers, stand down."

Robbie throws his flaming arms up in the air in victory before he opens and steps out from the armor, Iron Man’s fire immediately disappearing behind him as he does a little obnoxious victory dance that Steve will probably surreptitiously punish him for later. Maybe by blocking his access to the Spine Lift for a couple of days. See if he’s so peppy after having to climb forty staircases to get to his bedroom.

"I know you didn’t make that device personally," Tony says, pointing at Robbie, even as he stays behind Steve’s shield.

Robbie smirks. "Broo made it for me."

"Broo’s a little shit," Tony laughs and genuinely doesn’t look upset. "Thanks for the bug testing, Reyes."

Robbie beams at him. "Broo says he’s got a lot more triggers for me to try out. I might have to keep surprising you."

"Well, I guess that’s fine, you might need to. Because it turns out I was faking my surrender all along." Tony grins and winks at T’Challa, who doesn’t even look ruffled, so whatever is coming must have been on T’Challa’s training plan the whole time. Steve turns to see several Iron Man suits flying through the door, heading straight towards them. "Took ‘em some time to fly down from the Crack Lab, I’m afraid." Steve rolls his eyes at an exultant Tony before jumping into the fight.

Tony’s created the armors specifically for sparring purposes, Steve realizes quickly, with each of them getting one targeting them specifically for their particular weaknesses. Tony sits out the rest of the bout, making notes on his tablet as he watches, presumably making notes for upgrades. When T’Challa calls time out, the bots silently line up against the wall, looking worse for wear, and the Avengers laugh and collapse on the ground for a rest. It’s nice getting to fight with each other when the fate of the universe isn’t on the line.

"I have a question," Robbie says. "Can I ask questions even though I'm, like, the junior on the team?"

"We expect questions from you the _most,_ " T’Challa says, resting his head on his hands. "You’ve learned too much too fast on battlefields, and not just on Avengers business. The opportunity to learn new things and grow in a time of peace is what we all want for you."

Steve brims with pleasure. Sometimes he finds it hard to hand leadership of the Avengers over, but T’Challa’s made it easy every step of the way.

"It’s a bit of a weird question," Robbie says, and he looks over at Jennifer speculatively. "Have you ever been a giant, floating severed head?"

Jennifer bursts out laughing. "Oh, man, you got my therapy session on Uni-Mind FM? That’s hilarious. Ah, I was kind of on drugs at the time, it wasn’t _actually_ happening."

"That’s weird," Robbie says. "And I, y’know, died and came back to life."

"Pretty sure that’s just mandatory to be an Avenger," Tony says. He eyeballs Steve. "In fact, when you think about it, given our combined histories, how many times _have_ we been copied and-slash-or put back together? Honestly, it’s ridiculous."

" _You’re_ ridiculous," Steve huffs.

"Co-signed," Carol says sing-song, under her breath.

Steve has to work hard not to make the response he _wants_ to, which is fairly childish, and ragingly possessive. He really does want to be the only person in the world allowed to mock Tony, though.

"The mind-visions have been fading for me," Thor rumbles. "I have seen many things of your realm I had never experienced before, even in all my years here. I am both grateful and disquieted."

"They’re definitely fading," T’Challa confirms.

"I’m almost going to be sad when they’re gone," Robbie sighs. "It was kind of cool to have a whole bunch of information in my head I didn’t have to study for."

Robbie’s right, really. It has been kind of cool, to be so connected to the Avengers in a way Steve’s never been connected to them before. It’s almost enough to ask Tony to connect them again, but then he remembers how clear and painful the first set of dreams were, and he swallows the impulse back. It’s probably not a thing to do very often.

"We’re not gonna have to do it again any time soon, though, right?" Jennifer asks. "Because I’ve had some _really_ private memories since and no offense, I really don’t want to share them if it can be helped."

Steve quietly and suddenly agrees. The idea of anyone seeing him and Tony together in their minds is weird. Thor and Jennifer had only kissed _once_ before the Uni-Mind and seeing that had felt like an intrusion. If any of the other Avengers could feel the way that he felt, Tony’s mouth against his, Tony’s fingers tangled in his hair...well, maybe they’d feel like they could fly too. But he still feels dizzy about it, and that makes him feel guilty because Tony isn’t something he wants to _hide_.

"I don’t mind," Thor says. "I quite like having an audience."

"I didn’t need to know that," Carol says, in a faint horrified voice.

"Relax, Thor is banned from all future Uni-Minds," Tony says. "I can make sure. I’m the one with the magic touch." He wiggles his fingers at her.

Carol’s hands clench into fists, and it’s almost amusing how torn she is between being relieved at the idea, or disgusted by Tony’s taunting.

Steve looks over at Tony to gauge his reaction and just—gets another flash of a memory, because Tony’s lying on the floor still, and it’s in the same pose as when he was in his coma, and there was that golden memory from before, of the footage of the Supreme Commander leaning over Tony’s prone body, smirking, _gloating—_

He jerks away from the flashback at a soft touch, Tony reaching out to jostle his arm.

"Hey," Tony says, softly, using the distraction of the others climbing to their feet to bow his head in closer, "where did you go?"

Steve forces himself to breathe. A golden memory. It means it’s one of Tony’s. Tony’s seen that footage, whatever it is. "Possibly a nightmare. Maybe not."

Tony’s eyes crease at the edges like he somehow knows what Steve means. "You don’t sound like it was _too_ scary."

"It couldn’t have been," Steve says. "You were there."

Tony actually full-on _shivers._ Steve smiles and holds the memory of that reaction close against his heart. Maybe one day it’s a memory he’ll have to share it with others for the greater good, but for now, at least it’s all his.

#

The memory of the Supreme Commander gloating over Tony has plagued him twice now, more than any other single Uni-Mind fragment, and Steve feels itchy about it. There’s footage out there somewhere, of that _other_ him, that he hasn’t seen yet and he needs to see it. He needs to know what _He_ was doing with Tony’s body. He needs to know Tony was safe. He needs to see what Tony’s already seen.

Steve finds himself heading up to the observation deck as soon as he can, his feet moving before he even realizes he’s made the decision.

"Good morning, Captain," Broo says, without even turning around.

Steve tries not to be startled.

"We are still on for this afternoon, yes?" Broo says, showing too many teeth in his pleasant smile accompanying the question.

"Of course we are," Steve promises. "I just had a query."

"I see. Proceed."

Steve gamely tries to explain the situation as best as he can, but he knows he’s stuttering, because maybe this is invasive on double levels, because maybe he’s being stupid to ask, and maybe it doesn’t matter—

"I have located the footage in question," Broo says before Steve’s thoughts can even resolve into a full sentence. He hops off his stool and firmly nudges Steve over to it, sitting him down on his chair. "Press this button to start it. I’ll leave you to your video. I have some errands to run. Please don’t be alarmed if there are explosions on the left-hand monitors, it’s quite all right."

Steve opens his mouth to say something, but Broo inclines a small bow and scurries off. Steve stares after him, wondering if he’s doing the right thing, but his own mind recalls the image of Tony in his coma, and he steels himself. He has to know what the Supreme Commander was doing over Tony’s body.

As it turns out, which Steve discovers almost immediately after starting the footage, the Supreme Commander was a pitch-perfect villain. Because he’s not hurting Tony in the footage. He’s not trying to wake him up. He’s not doing anything, but sitting there, gloating at Tony’s comatose body, and he’s _performing an evil monolog._

It’s almost funny, except for Tony’s frozen face onscreen in that gray box which might as well be a coffin, and that just makes Steve feel queasy.

"I’m not the man you think I am, Tony," the Supreme Commander says, and Steve goes cold, missing some of the abomination’s next words.

Steve’s going to be sick again, he thinks desperately, but he can’t look away. It’s like watching a train crash in slow motion, except his body can’t move, he can’t do anything to stop it from happening because it’s already happened.

"I mean, that's you, isn't it?" the Supreme Commander taunts. "The Futurist. So in love with his own vision of what's to come that he'd rather start a war than accept someone else's—" and Steve has to reach out and touch the button, and it freezes on _his_ face, taunting, proud, because no, _no,_ he’s said almost exactly those words, just this week—how could they be the same? How could they be _so close_ when the Supreme Commander was so evil?

Steve forces himself to keep watching, even though he has to fight the urge to tear his own throat out, because he knows who the golden memories belong to now, and Tony’s already seen this, Tony’s seen this evil version of him, spilling his cruel plans and bragging about how devastating everything is going to be.

"See, that's the other truth," the Supreme Commander gloats over Tony’s body. "Like I told you before, I'm not the man you think I am. But everything _he_ ever did, every memory, every moment—I carry it inside me. I know every thought he ever had about _you_ , for instance. He loved you. He loved you and he admired you. Even when you fought."

 _He loved you._ Steve’s eyes burn and he reaches out, fumbling with the complex controls, managing to slide the video back a few seconds.

"He loved you," the Supreme Commander croons onscreen. "He loved you, and he admired you."

Steve’s stomach somersaults. The other him had said that. The other him with all his memories had said that. And Tony has seen this already, that much Steve knows for sure.

"Oh," Tony says, from behind him, and Steve startles, and pauses the video again. "I was looking for Broo to talk about the device from practice, and—" He falls silent as he comes closer and sees Steve.

Steve wonders what expression his own face is making right now, to make Tony look a little nervous. He swallows, his throat dry. "You saw this?"

Tony nods, his mouth pushed into an unhappy line. "Yes."

"So you already knew that I—before we—you already—"

"I thought he was messing with me," Tony says, frankly. "I thought it was some sort of long-term game plan, put it into the video archives for me to find so he could mess with me later when I woke up. Honest to goodness, I didn’t know it was real." He tilts his head, the challenge clear in his gaze when he says, "Not until you kissed me. That’s when I thought, what if? What if he wasn’t lying? What if he was trying to hurt me with the truth?"

Steve flinches at the word _hurt_. "I think," Steve says, slowly, "that we’ve been putting off a talk we shouldn’t have been putting off."

Tony swallows visibly, his eyes darting up to the monitor, still frozen on the Supreme Commander’s delighted expression. Steve steps up from the chair and moves closer to him, staring at Tony until Tony looks back at him and holds his gaze.

"I’d like to make a pact before we start," Steve says, slowly. "Honesty. Full honesty. From now on. No secrets. We can’t afford that, not now. Not if we ever have to rely on the Uni-Mind ever again. And we might have to. You’re the only left in the universe who can do it."

Tony sighs, visibly saddened by the truth of that. "I know. If we’re using the Uni-Mind it would be for a battle, and the last thing we need is to have a full-out brawl when we need to be focused on saving the Earth. Again." He eyes Steve warily. "I’m used to only being accountable to myself. I can’t say it’ll be easy."

"You don’t have to say it’ll be easy," Steve says, equably. "You just have to try."

Tony nods. "Fair enough. Then if we’re being honest...let’s start with a hard question. Why now?" Tony’s eyes glitter with something indefinable. "Because I’m going to say it. T _his—_ " he gestures between them "—has always been here." He tilts his head like he’s daring Steve to argue with him.

Steve presses his lips together because he can’t. It always _has_ been there, it’s just been so much easier to push it aside because he’d always known it would be difficult.

"I think it’s because I’m tired," Steve says, shrugging. "I’m tired of pretending it doesn’t exist, that we only get angry at each other because we’re brothers-in-arms. I’m tired of thinking we could wait until it gets easier because our lives are _never_ going to get easier."

Tony’s face is taut with a wariness that Steve hates. He wants to kiss the expression away, and it’s somehow worse now knowing he can, and that it would chase that expression away, and Tony would smile with those warm knowing eyes, and Steve would be able to drown in them like he’s always wanted to, and it would be a mistake. The cause of that expression would always be there, lurking under the surface like a canker sore, ready to smash them apart at any time. They need to be honest if they want to survive this. Steve doesn’t want to mask the wariness on Tony’s face right now. He wants to eradicate it. He wants them to be as sure of each other as they can be.

"I’m tired of how long I hold out," Steve continues, slowly, "before I always end up coming to pull you back in. Like these last few weeks, you didn’t want to be an Avenger, but there I was, pushing you again. And you always come back, no matter how many times you say no, and I know it’s because I ask. I’m tired of always selfishly _needing_ you back because I can’t do this without you. I’m just—I’m so tired of doing any of this without you."

Tony stares at him, his eyes wet. His mouth moves like he’s struggling to say something, and he swallows visibly. His jaw clenches and he says it, because he’s brave, and there’s something about this moment that feels like it needs more courage than facing a thousand enemies.

"What if this goes badly?" Tony says, and his stare is intense. Like he’s diving right into Steve’s soul, but that’s a worrying thought for later because this moment is enough. "Steve, I can’t—I can’t lose you."

"You have before. And I’ve lost you. Over and over." Steve shrugs. "We could sit here and calculate all the ways this could go badly, but this has _already_ gone badly. We’ve both died. We’ve both been turned by magic into the worst possible versions of ourselves, and that’s the whole crux of it. There is no _why not_ anymore."

"Steve—"

"Because that’s the thing," Steve pushes on. "You’ve seen me at my worst." He gestures up at the screen. "You’ve seen me at my best. And you never stay away, even when you should. And it’s the same in reverse. I’ve seen you at your crushing worst, and I’ve seen you at your shining best, and—what’s the point of waiting for one over the other? Because I want you all the time anyway. I choose _both_. Your best you, your worst you, all of it. Because I can’t _do_ any of this without you."

Tony, when he manages to speak, says in a low rough voice, "You can." The two words are accompanied by a ragged, desperate, searching expression. Like Tony wants to believe what Steve’s saying.

"Maybe so," Steve says. "But here’s the truth: I don’t want to." Tony’s eyes go wide, and he tenses like he’s bracing for a hit, but Steve smiles at him, and the tension melts away into stunned disbelief. "Tony, I don’t want to do any of this without you. Not anymore. You’ve said it yourself, a hundred times. We’re better and stronger together than we are apart." He shrugs. "So that’s where I’m at. How about you?"

Tony doesn’t manage to make another coherent word after that, but Steve guesses from the way Tony’s kissing him to within an inch of his life that maybe Steve’s said just the right thing.

#

Tony helps him make the afternoon tea for Broo, and he’s pretty practiced about the way he goes around it. Steve’s confused until Tony admits that Broo’s been hustling them all for afternoon teas since he came on staff. If Tony puts out more cream cakes than Steve might have, Steve allows it. He’s in a very good mood. And Broo did catch them kissing in his workspace on his return, so they probably owe him for the unwanted mental images.

"Do you think it’s creepy?" Steve gestures around at the stomach-kitchen with the knife he’s using to carefully cut up sandwiches into triangles. "That we’re living in a giant corpse."

Tony considers it. "I guess I try not to think about it too much," he concludes. "But then I remember how it took me four years to build the tower, so something that could be transformed in four days seems like an excellent choice. We needed somewhere neutral for a base, not on American soil. It makes sense."

"I prefer your tower," Steve says. "And not just because of the...sub-zero location."

"It’s nice that we’re trying something new," Tony says, and he looks carefully at Steve so the double-meaning isn’t lost on him.

Steve grins back. "I guess that’s what they say, that the definition of stupidity is doing the same thing and expecting different results."

"Eh, that just sounds like an engineering problem to me."

"You think everything is an engineering problem."

"Heh, accurate."

They’re still smiling at each other when Broo comes in for the tea. He doesn’t look surprised that Tony is there. He doesn’t even look angry. In fact, he almost looks happy. He’s probably seen the footage too, Steve thinks, his cheeks coloring a little.

 _He loved you._ Yeah. That’s always been true. It’s always been there. So clear even the evilest possible version of himself couldn’t miss how much he loved Tony. How much he always probably will.

Broo’s good conversation, even if half of it goes over Steve’s head, and when Steve preemptively asks Broo to share tea with him in the future at another time before he can even start to guilt-trip Steve into the invitation, Broo nearly chokes on a cherry tomato. Broo has to excuse himself to the sink to wash his tie, which was a casualty of the surprised splutter.

As Broo’s distracted, Steve leans over towards Tony. Tony glances at him and smiles slowly, confidently.

"With this...honesty plan," Steve says. "I uh, I feel like I do have to admit something."

Tony’s smile wobbles, just a little. "What?"

"I kind of—it’s just, the Uni-Mind thing, it’s just snapshots of memory and emotions, that’s the problem..."

"You’re rambling."

"Yeah, because I’m finding it difficult to admit this." Steve sighs. "It’s just, you were so sweet, and this sounds so ungrateful, but… If you’d locked in on any other memory but _that_ one, this wouldn’t be so difficult. Tony, I really—"

"Yeah?" Tony says, and he looks _terrified,_ and Steve honestly probably shouldn’t take that as a compliment, that he’s _that_ scared of this going wrong. He does take it as a compliment, but he also rushes to fix it.

"I hate rats," Steve admits.

"What?" Tony blinks, realization slowly dawning.

"I really do not like rats," Steve presses onward, wincing. "At all. I hate them. They kind of creep me out. That memory of me in my cell...I spent most of the time in the dark honestly freaking out. You probably caught the ten-second mental pep-talk I was doing in an attempt to get myself to calm down."

"Whoops." Tony grimaces. "Well. I guess that’s another point in favor of trying this sheer honesty thing." He contemplates something visibly for a second. "Hey, Broo," he says, raising his voice.

Broo looks over questioningly.

"You know how you’re absolutely a vegetarian at the moment, and in no way a meat-eater," Tony says.

"Yes," Broo says, slowly, eyeballing Tony and letting his wide mouth show more of his teeth in a clear _you better not be fucking mocking me right now_ message.

"There’s a...construction on sub-level LL-18. Uh. It has a… particular infestation. I require some assistance to dismantle it and uh, remove the organic matter therein. Feel free to resolve it as efficiently as you can?"

Broo’s eyes glimmer knowingly. "Consider it sorted, Mr. Stark. I’ll return your construction materials to your personal hangar."

"Appreciate it, Mr. Broo," Tony says, with a wink.

"I’ll begin preparations immediately," Broo says, and with a short bow to both of them, scuttles out of the room.

"We hadn’t finished our tea," Steve’s face falls.

Tony shrugs. "I guess he’s pretty hungry after pretending to like your salad."

"Hey," Steve says, but it’s without heat. He doesn’t have time to sulk for long, because there’s a sound of clattering feet and then Robbie appears in the doorway. He nods over at them, and Steve gestures, a _come on in_ hand wave. Robbie’s eyes linger over the remains of the food.

"Ooh, is this food available for anyone?" Robbie asks, and Steve has to muffle a laugh because sometimes he forgets Robbie’s still a teenager.

"We’re done, help yourself," Steve says, gesturing at it.

"Cool," Robbie breathes, and piles a plate high immediately with cake, and then takes a sandwich and some of the salad when Steve shoots him a look. Robbie nods like he’s going to leave, and then he stares at the table, notices the pot of coffee near Tony, and he leans over and takes it, sniffing loudly at Tony before leaving the room with it.

"That’s your fault," Tony says, pointing at Steve in dismay. "That is _entirely_ your fault."

Steve just beams, pleased. "You think so, huh? What are you gonna do about it?"

Tony’s dismay abruptly slides into a smirk. "Just you wait and see," he promises, and hops off his stool to move closer, but he’s too slow. Steve reaches across and snags his tie, pulling Tony to him over the corner of the table.

"I think we’ve waited enough," Steve says and kisses away the pleasantly surprised noise that Tony makes.

"Oh my god, my eyes," Carol says, from the doorway, because apparently all the Avengers are going to walk in on them now. Tony pulls back from Steve just an inch, but he can’t move any further, because Steve’s hand is still tangled in his tie. "And your _sanity,_ Steve, I thought you had better taste?"

Steve stares at Tony and smirks because he doesn’t really feel like he should apologize, and something about that makes Tony smile too.

"You _could_ join us for a threesome, Danvers," Tony says, wiggling his eyebrows at Steve. Steve lets his tie go, and Tony leans back and gives Carol a truly horrendous wink.

Carol’s face does something complicated and she turns on her heel and storms off, muttering unpleasant words under her breath that would have Steve frowning if they were directed at him, but Tony just smiles at her retreating back, looking much too satisfied with himself. He’s been needling Carol like that constantly, and if it’s deliberate, Steve can’t figure out Tony’s motivation behind it.

"Why do you do that?" Steve asks.

Tony frowns slightly before his expression clears. "Ah, because she’s irritated enough by my sheer existence, why needle her and make it worse?"

"I wasn’t going to phrase it that way."

Tony looks at the empty doorway, eyes contemplatively scanning the space there like he’s calculating something in his head. He probably is. "I’m distracting her. Every time she sees me, especially when we’re here, she thinks about the moment she nearly killed me. I know the feeling, believe me, and I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy, let alone someone I love. So that’s the plan. Distract her until she forgets."

Steve swallows, his mouth dry when he thinks about what Tony must be feeling, everything he’s been going through. Both of their lives have been unimaginably changed and altered and twisted, over and again, but they’re both still here, and alive, and together. Maybe that’s all that matters.

"You’ll be doing it a long time," he says, softly.

"Eh," Tony shrugs elegantly. "She’s worth it, I think. And there are other things I can do a long time in the interim." He waggles his eyebrows at Steve. "Longer now I’m in a new body." He eyeballs Steve. "How’s yours holding up? I mean, yours is new too, right?"

"Technically."

"So seeing as we both have new bodies right now... Wanna take ‘em for a spin, see what they can do?"

Steve laughs into their next kiss. He closes his eyes as his arms find Tony’s waist, as Tony’s hands slide around his neck, every touch a shower of fireworks, sparks under his skin. Behind his eyelids a few more memories flash, some of them tinged with gold, his memories tangling with some of the fragments of Tony’s memories, courtesy of the Uni-Mind.

T’Challa’s intel from Dane is right; the memories are already starting to fade and they’re less frequent, and Steve’s almost sad about that, now they’re nearly gone. It’s been a hell of an experience, and it’s gotten him to a place he never thought he’d get to be. In Steve’s memories, he can recall Tony looking at him, years ago; even then it was with such obvious fondness and adoration. His brain shifts, rearranges, and latches onto a golden fragment of a memory from Tony’s mind that matches it, Steve looking back at Tony. Soft and so clearly in love.

"Yeah," Steve breathes. "Let’s do this."


End file.
